Stony Limits
by mahc
Summary: JED-DONNA - Fourth Story in the "As I Was Drifting Away" Series. Oh, Leo, I've thought it through. I don't know how I'm going to do it, but I have to leave. I have to go away.
1. Chapter One

This story follows "Some Say," which follows "In Your Eyes," which follows "As I Was Drifting Away" in the "As I Was Drifting Away" series. Hmm. Hope it's not as complicated as it sounds. And I hope you enjoy it.  
  
POV: Donna Spoilers: None Rating: PG Disclaimer: These characters are not my own creation.  
  
Stony Limits - Chapter One A West Wing Story  
  
by MAHC  
  
This doesn't make sense.  
  
There must be something else.  
  
What else? What else is wrong?  
  
What else?  
  
What else?  
  
His anguished words echoed in her mind, drawing her thoughts from her living room couch back to the Oval Office. Even now it still hurt, hurt to hear the devastation from him, hurt to see his shock, hurt to know she had done it. She hadn't gone to work that day, called in sick, something that had happened only twice before in the six years of his presidency. But she couldn't go in, couldn't face Leo. Couldn't face HIM. She had unplugged the phone, knowing he would be calling and just curled up on the couch and cried. That was how Margaret had found her later in the morning.  
  
Now the two friends sat, contemplating the surreal turn of events, their coffee untouched on the low table.  
  
"Are you sure about this?" Margaret asked, eyes tight.  
  
God no, I'm not sure. "I don't have a choice, Margaret. I just - don't have a choice."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
Why not? Didn't she realize? "It would ruin him, don't you see?"  
  
Her friend seemed to consider this carefully. "Maybe, maybe not." She fixed her with a hard stare. "He deserves to know, Donna."  
  
There it was, then. What she had been contemplating all along. "Margaret," she whispered with certainty, "it would ruin him. I can't do that to him. I can't do it."  
  
"Don't you think he'd want to know?"  
  
"I don't-I-" She trailed off. Yes, he would want to know, but she couldn't tell him. Couldn't place that burden on him. It would be hers alone.  
  
Margaret remained silent a moment longer, then asked, "What will you do?"  
  
She knew that, at least. "Resign. Go home. Mom will be shocked, but later she'll accept it and maybe even be pleased."  
  
"Resign?"  
  
"I'll have to. I've got my letter ready to give Josh. In that drawer." She waved a hand vaguely to indicate a simple wooden desk that sat between their position and the kitchen. "I just need to find the right time."  
  
"Does your mother know that-that-"  
  
She nodded. "She knows about him."  
  
Margaret sighed and tried once again. "You're not going to tell him?"  
  
"It's my fault, Margaret."  
  
Now the frown creased her brow. "Excuse me? Your fault? Donna, you gotta know by now it takes two to tango."  
  
It certainly did. And she and Jed had apparently tangoed at the wrong time, when the band was on break. Her fault. It was. She had assured him she used birth control, which, even though he was Catholic, he accepted without protest. And she did, but she had been so busy with the tobacco thing that-well, it was only a couple of days, maybe three. Damn! Stupid. Three days. Only three days and look what happened.  
  
All she could do was repeat the only real thing she knew. "It would ruin him."  
  
Margaret finally lifted the cup of coffee, screwing up her face as the cold liquid touched her lips. She set it down. "You don't think your leaving is going to do that?"  
  
"Why would-"  
  
"I'm not talking politics, now, Donna. I mean emotionally."  
  
Please, don't, she thought, still hearing the despair in his voice as he called after her. Please don't, because it's going to ruin me, too. Oh, how can I do this? How?  
  
And the tears fell again, as they had fallen since she ran from his office, his hoarse cry following her out. Margaret, always a friend, moved closer, drawing her into comforting arms. And Donna appreciated it. Really she did.  
  
But those were not the arms she really wanted to be in.  
  
The night was restless, with visions of his pained blue eyes mixing incongruously with angry cries for impeachment, vicious declarations of adultery and immorality. They bounced in her brain, growing louder and bolder until she sat up in bed crying out, her face wet, her gown damp, her breath coming in gasps.  
  
She rose, unable and unwilling to return to that torture, showered and dressed, preparing to begin her journey home, her self-imposed exile from D.C., from the White House, from him. As she dragged the suitcase from under the bed, the door chime froze her. For a moment, she contemplated ignoring it, pretending she was not home, but that would not solve any of her problems. Some day she must face them. Might as well be today.  
  
Cautiously, she peeped through the view hole, uncertain what she would do if it were he, but the lined face she saw scared her even more. Leo. And his eyes were dark with anger, his jaw tight with rage. But she couldn't ignore him any longer. Taking a deep fortifying breath, she opened the door.  
  
He stood for a moment, as if he had not expected her to let him in, then took a few steps and turned, a crumpled piece of paper in his hand. Raising it toward her, he asked, voice rough, "What the hell is this?"  
  
She recognized her resignation letter, wondered how it had gotten into his hands. "How-" she began, then realized. "Margaret."  
  
He didn't answer, just continued on the offensive. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" The sheer indignation that flowed from him almost knocked her down.  
  
"I have to, Leo," she began, not knowing exactly what she would say to him, what she could say to him. "It's the only choice."  
  
"Damn it, Donna!" he yelled, then visibly brought himself under control. "What are you trying to do to him?"  
  
What happened? Oh God! "What do you mean? How is he?"  
  
"How is he?" The voice rose again. "My God, woman, you go after him, lead him on, seduce him, promise him - I don't know what - and now you just decide you're leaving? How is he? How do you want him to be?"  
  
"Is he - is he okay?" She didn't know what she expected, really. Maybe that he had cried in Leo's arms. Maybe that he had gotten drunk and passed out on the bed. But she knew Jed. That had not happened. And Leo's words confirmed her suspicions.  
  
"No, he's not okay, Donna. He won't say a word to me. Still hasn't told me what happened but I can guess it wasn't good. He's clammed up, withdrawn again, with that look that somebody slugged him between the eyes with a baseball bat."  
  
The sob rose in her throat. She couldn't stand it. "No, Leo. I - I didn't want him to feel-"  
  
"Well, it's too late for that. He feels, all right. He feels for you, Donna. He loves you. He just managed to claw his way out of the hole after Abbey's death and now you just push him right back in. You told me- You said you loved him."  
  
Her voice was barely audible. "I do."  
  
His turn was so swift that he almost lost his balance, but caught himself with one hand on the back of the couch. "What? I'm sorry, but you have a strange way of showing it. You said you weren't going to hurt him, and now you just leave? I don't get-"  
  
"I'm pregnant."  
  
She might as well have slapped him in the face. He stopped, mouth open, eyes unfocused with shock. To make sure he heard, she repeated her revelation. "Leo, I'm pregnant."  
  
"Oh my God." His hand clutched harder at the couch.  
  
"Yeah," she laughed, but it contained no humor.  
  
"Oh hell."  
  
"That's why, Leo. That's why I have to leave. It would ruin him, I know. Don't you think I know that? I love him, Leo. I love him so much, but I can't do that to him. I can't see him ruined."  
  
"Okay," he said, but it was only to delay until he could think of something more impressive. "Okay." He pushed his hand out, as if he pushed away the confusion in his brain, and looked down. "All right. Let's think this through."  
  
Donna almost smiled. "Oh, Leo. I've thought it through. I don't know how I'm going to do it, but I have to leave. I have to go away and-"  
  
"Does Jed know?" Not the President. Jed. That showed how shaken Leo was.  
  
She shook her head.  
  
"Donna, if you leave, that will kill him, you know that?"  
  
She nodded. It was killing her, that was for sure. "Can you tell me any differently, Leo? Can you say it will be all right for me to be pregnant with the child of the President of the United States?"  
  
"Donna-"  
  
"No! You can't tell me that, can you? Because you know it would be a disaster. It would ruin him and this administration. And it would be scandalous for the country. I know this. That's why I have no choice." Please, Leo. Let me go. Let me do this before I can't.  
  
Leo took a deep breath and answered as if he had heard her thoughts, as well. "Where will you go?"  
  
"Home. Wisconsin."  
  
"This will kill him," he repeated vaguely.  
  
She nodded. But the alternative would ruin him. What was worse?  
  
Two days after Donna's announcement in the Oval Office Margaret brought Chinese. She still had not returned to work. Leo had promised not to say anything except that she didn't feel well and was taking some time off. Not that Jed would have believed him, but maybe it bought her some time to think, to pack. She had plugged the phone back in, mentally ready for his call, but it didn't come and she wasn't sure if the disappointment or relief was stronger. What would she say to him, anyway?  
  
The steady rhythm of a rainstorm actually lulled her into a false sense of peace as she swirled bits of rice into the chunks of Mongolian Beef, nibbling only here and there at the food. Her bags were packed. She just had to call her landlord to let him know she was subleasing. Margaret ate a few bites more, but not much.  
  
"Grover Cleveland."  
  
What? Donna lifted her head and cocked it slightly, unconsciously mimicking Jed's habit. "Huh?"  
  
"Grover Cleveland," her friend repeated. "President of the United States. Only non-consecutive Chief Executive. Twenty-second and twenty-fourth-"  
  
"I know who Grover Cleveland was, Margaret. I just don't know why you decided to blurt out his name."  
  
"Maria Halpin."  
  
Maybe Margaret was trying to distract her with trivia. Well, it sure as hell wouldn't work if she had chosen presidents as the category. "Okay. That one I don't know."  
  
"Maria Halpin was a thirty-six-year-old Buffalo widow who had an affair with Cleveland, bore his son and was supported by him for the rest of her life."  
  
No way! Donna's jaw dropped. "While he was President?"  
  
"Well, the affair was before he was President, but the point is that is was a scandal. The Republicans plastered it all over the papers. Made it a campaign issue. Called him a rake, a moral leper, worse in moral quality than a pickpocket-"  
  
"Margaret! This is not helping."  
  
Her friend slid the slick food container onto the table. "Don't you see? It didn't matter! You ever heard of James G. Blaine?"  
  
Donna searched her brain briefly for the name but came up empty. Jed would know, she thought, but pushed that disturbing idea away. "Well, no, not really."  
  
"Republican candidate. My point?" Now the smugness sketched across her face. "Cleveland won! Didn't matter about the woman and the child. He won!"  
  
Possible? Was there even any similarity here? Plus that was over 100 years ago. Things change.  
  
As she opened her mouth to reply, she heard it: the engines of several vehicles. And she knew immediately even though the sirens had not sounded. Peeking through the curtains, she saw two black Suburbans at the curb. No limousine, no motorcycles. She wasn't sure how he had gotten away without them, but it didn't matter. He was here, trudging up the walk in the heavy rain, ignoring the efforts of Ron Butterfield to shield him with an umbrella.  
  
Margaret gasped and stared at her, eyes wide. She mouthed something about hiding, but Donna shook her head just as the knock echoed in the room.  
  
She had to open it. After all, it was probably against some national law not to. Anyway, the secret service could break it down if they wanted. So she dragged in a deep breath, grasped the handle and turned.  
  
He stood there, raindrops dripping in steady intervals from his hair, trailing down his face, his shirt soaked despite the umbrella that his agent still held over his head. And even in such a disheveled state, he looked wonderful and handsome and sexy. Her heart pushed at her to leap into his arms, to bury her head against his shoulder, to clutch him to her and never let go. But her mind steeled itself for the painful necessity and somehow she managed only a slight nod, stepping back to let him in. Ron remained outside.  
  
"Mister President," Margaret greeted in a small voice. He didn't answer. Maybe he didn't even realize she stood there. "Okay," she whispered. "I'll just-I'll just-go now." And she slid out the door almost instantly, leaving them alone.  
  
They stared at each other for a moment, and Donna couldn't block the memory of those eyes holding hers as their bodies moved together. With effort she kept herself from licking the water from his lips, from combing her fingers through the thick, wet hair. His eyes looked different now, haunted, tortured. And she almost groaned aloud, knowing she was responsible.  
  
After at least one full minute he finally spoke and the voice was rough, thick with emotion. "I've loved two women in my life," he said, and Donna almost broke down right then. "I've lost one. I won't lose the other. At least not this way."  
  
She bit her lip, summoning strength from somewhere. "I'm sorry, Jed. I just-"  
  
He didn't move, but his very presence drew her closer to him. "Donna, I don't understand. I don't know what happened."  
  
Her head shook. She couldn't explain to him. "I - I just - I have to go."  
  
"Tell me you don't love me," he demanded, raising a hand as if he wanted to grasp her arm, but letting it fall before he did. "Tell me." And despite everything, his expression indicated fear that she just might, as if she could ever bring herself to say anything like that.  
  
Unable to deny the love, she remained silent.  
  
"I'm in love, Donna. For the second and last time in my life I am in love. And no one is going to take that away from me. Not even you."  
  
His eyes were sharp, penetrating. They took her breath and she almost succumbed to the temptation to throw logic away and tell him. But still, she managed to hang on, to grit her teeth and keep her mouth shut.  
  
In her silence, the anguish showed plainly on his face and he ran a hand through his hair. "My God, Donna, I promise you, I don't understand. I've missed something somewhere."  
  
An ironic smile crossed her lips. "No. I'm the one who's missed something." It was out before she could stop it.  
  
"What?"  
  
Heart racing ahead of her brain, she continued. "Several days worth of something."  
  
His head turned a little to the side, but his eyes remained on her. She almost heard the sparks jumping as he considered her comments. The next words were slow, precise. "What are you saying, Donna?"  
  
Her brain told her to shut up, but her heart saw the pain on his face and she knew even though she was leaving, she couldn't let him think she didn't love him. Inhaling, then exhaling heavily, she dropped the bombshell.  
  
"I'm pregnant, Jed."  
  
"Holy Mother of God."  
  
Before he had hit the floor good, Ron was coming through the door. 


	2. Chapter Two

POV: Donna Spoilers: None Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: These are not my characters, even though I manipulate them with evil glee!  
  
Stony Limits - Chapter Two A West Wing Story  
  
by MAHC  
  
"Ow!"  
  
Donna grimaced as she pressed the ice pack to Jed's brow in a vain attempt to squelch the swelling tissue. The cold had slowed the bleeding to a trickle, but she figured he'd still probably need a couple of stitches at least. He winced as she shifted it a bit, but didn't speak again.  
  
Ron stood protectively by, obviously relieved that the President had not actually passed out. In his shock, Jed had taken several blind steps backwards and tripped on the area rug, his head clipping the coffee table on the way down. Now he sat on the floor, back against the chair he was probably aiming for, a narrow trail of blood mixing with raindrops down the side of his face.  
  
No one spoke. No one moved. For a lifetime they sat or stood, listening to the steady beat of the rain outside. Donna wished he would say something, wished Ron would leave now so she could ask Jed how he felt, what he was thinking.  
  
The silence stretched on, so long that when he finally did speak, the unexpected sound made her jump.  
  
"Pregnant?"  
  
Ron's eyes shot to the President first, then to her, his usual stony expression unable to fight back the astonishment. His mouth dropped, and Donna would not have been surprised if his ear wire had fallen out, too. Wow! She had never seen real emotion on his face and this was something. At first, she thought she identified anger, accusation. But when the mask fell back into place and he shifted to his protectee, a strange, almost gentle expression touched his eyes. But Donna didn't have time to contemplate that surprising gift. She was too busy fielding the question Jed's eyes were throwing at her.  
  
He had lifted his gaze and stared, his face frozen from the shock that had slammed into it. The blood pumped in her throat. She fumbled with the ice pack, her will fading fast. His eyes asked. Asked with the intimacy of a lover. His lips moved in the same way.  
  
"Pregnant?"  
  
Nodding, she felt the tears coursing down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Jed. I'm so sorry."  
  
"But-"  
  
"It's - it's a shock to me, too." She tried not to let the sob catch in her throat. "I, uh, I thought I - well, you see, I had been taking - but I missed - well, it was stupid, but-" Oh, how could she have been so stupid?  
  
"Pregnant," he echoed, as if it were a foreign word.  
  
She nodded.  
  
"Pregnant?"  
  
Another nod.  
  
"With - my child?"  
  
She frowned. Could he think it was someone else's? "That's why-I know what I have to do. I know what you need me to do, but I can't-I can't-"  
  
She swallowed. How would he take this? She knew his historic stand on abortion, but would he feel the same in a personal situation? Plunging ahead, she laid it out for him.  
  
"I'm going to keep it," she declared, but then assured him, "I'll go away. I'll go home."  
  
"Donna-"  
  
"No one will know." Except Ron and she knew he would go to his grave with the secret, if necessary.  
  
"Donna-"  
  
"You won't have to deal with it at all. I'll just say I was homesick if anyone asks. I'll just tell them I got a better job offer. I'll just -"  
  
"Donna!"  
  
Now Jed stood, ignoring the falling pack, the renewed trickle of blood, grasping her arms. "My God!" Fresh astonishment washed over his face. "Of course you're going to keep it. How could you think -that would be - that would be - well, I would never ask you to-" He stumbled over the words with both shock and reassurance vying for dominance in his tone. Either oblivious to Ron's presence or not caring at all, he took her hands in his. Her heart leaped at his touch.  
  
"Of course you're keeping it." He drew his hand to her face, cupped her cheek in the palm. "And you're not going away."  
  
"But-"  
  
"Donna," he said, voice soft, but eyes intense. "I love you. Dear God, I love you so much, and you are not going away. We'll make this work somehow."  
  
"But I - I'm -"  
  
"Pregnant," he supplied. Then he smiled. A brilliant, delighted, election- winning Jed Bartlet smile. "With my child."  
  
Oh my God! He was grinning. No, he was beaming. And suddenly, her heart lifted, floated, soared. Joy bubbled up inside her as she realized how he felt.  
  
Then his smile faltered just a little, forced from his lips by renewed shock. "Our child?"  
  
This time tears accompanied her nod, and he leaned in, placing his hand on her stomach. He looked down for a moment, then pressed his lips softly against hers and she finally was able to kiss the raindrops away. When he pulled back, his eyes mirrored hers, both shimmering, both soft. She heard Ron shift uncomfortably in the background.  
  
"I love you," Jed whispered. "Do you believe that?"  
  
Yes. But no sound emerged from her throat.  
  
He stepped even closer. "Do you believe that, Donna?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
He smiled at her, his hand still on her stomach.  
  
"You're not going," he stated.  
  
"I have-"  
  
Strong fingers touched her lips, stopped her words. "You're not going."  
  
"But-"  
  
"You're not going."  
  
"No?" she asked in a whisper.  
  
"No."  
  
"No," she agreed, unable to do anything else. His mouth was on hers again, his hands sliding around to her hips, his body pressing against hers. She felt the wetness of his clothes soak through her own shirt, but she didn't care a bit.  
  
A very uncomfortable cough broke through to her befuddled brain. "I'll, uh, I'll just be out here, Mister President," Ron offered quickly, but Jed ignored him, trailed his tongue along her throat, nipped at her ear. The door closed, and they were alone.  
  
He kissed her again, this time harder, his tongue pushing between her lips, his body leaning into hers. Finally, he withdrew and stared at her, his hand lifting to push back a strand of hair.  
  
"Pregnant?" he repeated, the total delight in his voice clear.  
  
Again, she nodded. "Yeah."  
  
"Son of a bitch."  
  
"Well, I hope not."  
  
He started to draw her against him again, but she felt him sway and catch himself. His face paled suddenly, the blood vanishing from it in one horrifying rush.  
  
"Jed?"  
  
"I think - I think I'd better -"  
  
In her brain, the next few seconds clipped by like the dramatic climax of a movie, slowed down for effect. His hand rose to his head, wiped at the blood that had now resumed once more into more or less a stream. Donna thought she moved instantly, but somehow her arms felt like lead, wouldn't cooperate with her mental commands. He was falling backward, his eyes glazing over, his arms dropping to his sides. She thought she called for Ron, wasn't sure until the door burst open and the agent rushed in, mouth set, eyes flashing. By that time Jed had really hit the floor and lay sprawled on the rug, out cold.  
  
Oh God! She was barely pregnant and the father of her child had just died in her living room. Relief coursed through her as her eyes found the steady rise and fall of his chest. Okay, he was still breathing at least. The room erupted into chaos as EMTs poured through the open door. They must have hidden the ambulance around the corner, she thought unnecessarily. Stabilizing his head, they went to work on the wound.  
  
"Possible concussion."  
  
"BP 105 over 68."  
  
That sounded low to her. Come on, Jed. Come on now, please.  
  
Finally, he groaned and his eyes fluttered open.  
  
"He's coming around."  
  
"Mister President?" Ron asked, bending over the prone figure of his boss.  
  
"Mmm?"  
  
"Jed?" Donna added. Couldn't hurt.  
  
His eyes cleared a bit and he gathered her in his gaze. A smile curved his lips, drawing a matching grin from her.  
  
"Pregnant," he mumbled.  
  
The EMT's exchanged speculative glances before Ron's fierce expression propelled them back to work.  
  
She didn't know what they would do now, but she knew she was not going anywhere. She loved him so much and he loved her and they had created life together. Life that was growing within her, life that was part of him, life that she loved already more than she ever could have imagined.  
  
"We'll make this work somehow," he had said. "We'll make this work-"  
  
Looking down at him as he slowly regained clarity, she knew that they would. They had to.  
  
She couldn't contemplate anything else anymore. 


	3. Chapter Three

Last one in this story, but there's more coming for those who are interested! Thanks for continuing to read.  
  
POV: Donna Spoilers: Pilot, ITSOTG, DIW, PC Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: Jed, Donna, and the other characters are not my creation.  
  
Stony Limits - Chapter Three A West Wing Story  
  
by MAHC  
  
Donna sat quietly in C.J.'s office watching on television the press conference that was unfolding only a few hundred yards away. She had never been more grateful for the press secretary's cool demeanor. If she had not already known the topic of the specially called meeting, she would have assumed, from C.J.'s expression and body language, that this was just a common, vanilla-flavored, everyday event.  
  
But she knew better. And so did C.J., despite her brilliant nonchalance.  
  
As the tall press secretary stepped to the podium, camera bulbs flashed, shutters clicked, video whirred. They knew this was a big event even if C.J. didn't show it. She slipped on her glasses and faced the familiar crowd. Donna swallowed once, wishing she were with Jed, but he was with Leo in the Situation Room. Korea again. A threat of nuclear activity. An uneasy stretch toward war.  
  
So she had left the Residence, gone in search of familiar faces, faces that now regarded her quite differently, faces of colleagues whose roles had suddenly changed. An unanticipated complication. She flinched as Carol nodded to her in deference, without the usual wisecrack or chummy grin.  
  
She should have realized. But she hadn't. Even Josh seemed distant, unsure of how to treat her, of what to say. He didn't joke with her anymore, didn't offer barbs or banter. She missed that. Only Margaret remained the same, possibly because she had been aware almost from the start. And C.J. C.J. never changed.  
  
Donna lifted her eyes to the screen as the press secretary began, her voice even, its usually bright tone undiminished.  
  
"First I have a statement, then I'll take questions. The White House has the pleasure of announcing the upcoming wedding of President Josiah Bartlet to Senior Staff Assistant Donnatella Moss to be held next Saturday at Camp David. Close family and friends in attendance." She looked up as if she had just read the weather report. "Any questions?"  
  
Seventy-five hands shot up simultaneously.  
  
At least that was over. Donna breathed deeply like you do when you have dreaded something and when it comes, it is just as bad as you anticipated. But you reassure yourself by remembering that at least it is over. She closed her eyes, hearing again the yelled inquiries into her past, the thinly-veiled insinuations about her motives for marrying the President, even the ridiculous suggestion, however subtle, that the relationship was more of convenience to have a First Lady than it was a physical and emotional connection. At least she had been able to chuckle at that one. This guy didn't know Jed Bartlet, that much was certain - or her for that matter.  
  
Not knowing how much longer Jed would be, how serious the situation in Korea was, she decided to stop by her apartment, gather a few things, begin selecting what to bring to the Residence and what to send home with her folks. Jonah trailed after her, her newly-assigned secret service agent. She had protested, but Jed insisted, stood firm on that one, and so her shadow traveled with her constantly. She remembered C.J.'s complaint about Simon Donavan and sighed sadly at the tragedy that became.  
  
Just a quick trip home, she thought. Just a fast errand. But as they reached the side gate, she looked up to see an army of cameras, reporters, and gawkers, every eye on her, every lens pointed her way.  
  
"Oh my God," she breathed, stunned, even though Jed and C.J. had warned her about this. The settling dusk erupted in bright explosions of light as cameras flashed, the stillness of the evening shattered by shouts from the crowd.  
  
"Donna Moss!"  
  
"Over here!"  
  
"How long have you known the President?"  
  
"What does your dress look like?"  
  
"When did you decide to get married?"  
  
"How did he propose?"  
  
"Did you have a relationship with him before Doctor Bartlet died?"  
  
"Are you sleeping with him?"  
  
Oh God! Oh God! She couldn't believe the questions thrown at her, couldn't comprehend the audacity of some of the reporters badgering her for information, getting in her face. Jonah pushed ahead, shielding her as best he could, but the throng moved in closer. She broke into a run and they barely made it to her car before the group rushed her. The D.C. police arrived in time to force them back and let the car through, but Donna knew her days of anonymity were over.  
  
"Son of a bitch! Son of a bitch!"  
  
"Jed-"  
  
"Damn it!"  
  
She tried to calm him, to draw him closer by grabbing his hand, but he continued to pace the bedroom floor anyway, merely limiting his path so he remained in contact with her. The flush to his face made the white bandage stand out starkly against the ruddy skin. She smiled a little as the sight reminded her of that moment two days before, that statement that had so floored him he staggered backward, tripping over the rug and hitting the edge of the coffee table: "I'm pregnant, Jed."  
  
Five stitches it had taken to close the gash over his right eye. More than she had figured, but the doctor assured her the scar would hardly be noticeable, mostly in his brow. As if she cared. Each mark on his body told the story of his life: the harsh scars on his abdomen and back where the gunman's bullet tore through him; the small nick on his shin where he had ridden Leo's $4,000 bike into a tree and sprained his ankle; the faded mark on his shoulder where his brother threw him against a tin shed as they wrestled, mostly in fun, as boys. And she loved each scar.  
  
His third expletive of the morning drew her back. "Damn it to hell!"  
  
"Jed-"  
  
"I knew they would ask. I knew they would approach you, but-"  
  
"It's okay," she assured him, even though she didn't really feel that way. "It's okay-"  
  
"No! No, it's not. It is definitely not okay. They went after you, Donna. If the police had not-" He stopped, face paling alarmingly. "God, I can't even contemplate what might have happened."  
  
Taking his hand in a harder grip, she forced him to stop and be still. His gaze came round to hers, his chest heaving from the tirade, his lips pressed tightly together, his hair scattered. But as their eyes met, she saw the gentleness descend, watched his expression soften, and the vision sent a thrill screaming into her chest.  
  
"Donna," he whispered, lifting his right hand to touch her cheek, her lips. "Donna, I'm sorry you have to go through this. I'm sorry your private life is not your own anymore. I'm sorry-"  
  
"Shh." Her fingers fell on his lips, halting the apology. "Shh. It doesn't matter," she said. "Don't you see? It doesn't matter. If I'm with you, Josiah Bartlet, none of it matters."  
  
He shook his head as if he didn't believe her, but smiled anyway, stepping forward so his arms could slide around her waist and draw her close. She leaned against him, her head on his shoulder, her fingers curling around the hair at his neck. He pressed his hands into her hips, and she smiled at the familiar pulse she felt between them. Yep, that was a stupid reporter who speculated this was a platonic relationship. Now one hand slipped between them and rested lightly on her abdomen. She knew what he was doing, knew he realized it was way too early to feel anything, but the gesture was endearing and sweet, nevertheless.  
  
She lifted her head to smile at him and was suddenly struck by the love in his eyes. Tears burned her at the hot emotion.  
  
"Donna," he whispered. "I've got something for you."  
  
The smile grew on her lips.  
  
Stepping to the wardrobe, he dug in the bottom of it for a moment before withdrawing a carefully wrapped package. His hand extended it to her and she took it, looking up at him, askance.  
  
"What's the occasion?"  
  
"None. Except I love you."  
  
Her fingers shook as she tore into the paper. A book, she could already tell, not that she was surprised by that. This one was old, of course, but not quite as ancient as the volume of Oxford English Verse she kept treasured in her cedar chest. Turning it over, she read the cover. The Complete Works of William Shakespeare.  
  
"Thank you," she said, feeling that maybe there was more to it than she realized.  
  
"Open to the marked page," he instructed, pointing at a simple gold bookmark peeking from the top.  
  
She flipped open the book, scanned the chosen page. Romeo and Juliet. Appropriate. Now she noticed a hand-drawn bracket to the side of a particular passage.  
  
"Read it," he said softly. "Aloud."  
  
Donna forced her eyes to stay clear as she repeated the written words:  
  
"With love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls, For stony limits cannot hold love out, And what love can do, that dares love attempt."  
  
"Act Two, Scene Two," he identified from memory. "We have scaled the walls, Donna. We have faced the stony limits and they couldn't hold love out. We'll get through this, Donna. We will."  
  
She threw her arms around him, wept into his shirt, whispered his name over and over. Oh, how she loved him.  
  
Finally, as she regained control, he breathed, "Donna -"  
  
She closed her eyes, already anticipating what he was going to say.  
  
"Donna, let me love you. Let me make love to you."  
  
Gee, well, let me think about it - Yes! Yes! Yes!  
  
She nodded, eyes still closed. Groaning at the sudden wet heat of his tongue at her ear, she mumbled, "I'd say I want to make a baby with you, but -"  
  
She paused to gasp as his lips nibbled at the sensitive skin of her neck.  
  
"- but we've already -"  
  
Now his mouth slid downward to suckle gently at her breast. She came close to screaming.  
  
"- done that."  
  
The abrupt knock at the Residence door jarred her and prompted her own quiet expletive. Jed growled and pulled away enough to answer.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
The muffled reply still carried enough clarity that they could hear the seriousness in the tone. "Mister President?"  
  
"Yeah, Charlie. Come in." His hand reluctantly smoothed her blouse back in place, but he took the liberty of one last caress before the aide entered.  
  
"I'm sorry, Mister President," he offered, and Donna saw the genuine regret in his eyes. "Mister McGarry sent me."  
  
"Sit Room?" Jed knew already.  
  
"Yes, Sir."  
  
"Coming."  
  
He turned to her, the disappointment clear on his face, but managed a grin and said, pointing a finger toward her breast, "Save my place."  
  
As he left with Charlie, Donna sighed and tried to suppress the desire he had ignited. She wasn't particularly successful, but eventually managed to walk from the room without flushed cheeks.  
  
Unfortunately, though, she need not have saved his place. Because he didn't return that night. She gave up waiting about midnight, falling into an uneasy sleep, her hand resting on his pillow. Not until early morning did he stumble in, eyes dark, clothes rumpled, collapsing onto the bed still dressed. He was out so cold that even her awkward movements to divest him of his shoes, shirt and pants didn't rouse him. With a sigh, Donna realized there would be many nights like this. Maybe she would get better at undressing him, at least.  
  
Wide awake now, she watched him sleep for a long time, wondering what it must be like to shoulder such a heavy burden, to be responsible for keeping peace not only in the United States, but around the entire world. She wondered what Korea was up to, wondered if he would share anything with her, if he had shared such information with Abbey. She wondered how she could help him, or if she could help him at all. And she wondered what kind of First Lady she would make. In a few short days she would assume that mantle, that role, that title. And it scared her more than anything else had so far.  
  
Even asleep, his brow knitted, the bandage wrinkling against his skin. All she could do was pray. Pray that she was strong enough for him. Pray that she could give him strength. Pray that nobody realized she was just a girl from Minnesota, or Wisconsin - or was it Canada - who had fallen in love with the most powerful man in the world and now was thrust into an unimaginable situation.  
  
A thought came to her as she lay beside him. Picking up the book from the nightstand, she flicked on a table lamp, checking to see if it disturbed him. He did not even flinch. She opened the cover again, found the words he had marked, and let her eyes run over them.  
  
"For stony limits cannot hold love out, And what love can do, that dares love attempt."  
  
Her heart drew them in, used them to fill her with inspiration. She could do this. They could do this. They were doing this. A wave of love swept over her and she kissed him softly, smiling when he mumbled her name, but not waking him. Yes, Shakespeare was right. Stony limits cannot hold love out. That much she knew, and she would take that with her into the days ahead.  
  
"With love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls, For stony limits cannot hold love out, And what love can do, that dares love attempt."  
  
William Shakespeare  
  
Romeo and Juliet  
  
Act II, Scene 2 


End file.
